It Begins With Tears
by babyb26
Summary: I'm back, check out the new chapter and you even get a bonus.It starts in Love, death, rage, and hope, but it begins with tears. How far will John go to regain the love of his beloved? Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1 Weight of the World

**Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. If you choose to flame let it be on the story itself, I am a Colonial History Major- trust me I know the story. I don't own any Disney characters, I would love to but I don't. This story is written for creation and entertainment only. This disclaimer extends through all chapters. Thanks enjoy. **

Hi all, well here this, it sorta popped into my head. It's a short that will hopefully turn into a larger story.

It Begins With Tears

Chapter 1

Dark thoughts entered his head as watched her. Every rise and fall of her chest sent him to a place that he had been only once. The remembrance of her dark tendrils flowing through his hand sent a vivid chill up his body as he swayed against the memories that flooded through his mind, taking him back to that first passionate encounter. Once, only once had he tasted the honey of her thigh, saccharine taste her mouth, and the nectar of her soul. However, that would change and she would be his again.

The pale moon hung low in the sky almost touchable but far beyond his grasp or that of any man. As he treaded with feather light steps and noted the earth's softness. As he moved, the braches of low flung trees seemed to reach for him. This alien environment called to him- to his soul, as much as she did. With cautious movements he recalled the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She reminded him of some dark goddess whose mere touch could find his lost soul. Her midnight hair reminded him of midnight pools, which moved with the aliveness of willow branches. Then there was her skin, which he with some unfathomable ability knew would glow honeyed amber by fire light. He saw the clearing was ahead of him and shifted the small pack in which he carried to his side. As he stepped into the clearing he felt energy climb up his body and he knew she was there. Scanning the area in the darkness he found her, blended within the tree line, safe, as if hidden from night itself. She moved with the grace of a silent queen to him, lifting her head covering to reveal her face.

She called to him, she called to his soul.

As if summoned, he moved to cradle her face his calloused palm gently caressed the soft skin underneath. Her breath quickened with his touch and she raised her eyes to meet his. He smiled as her eyes brightened then softened under his touch. He wondered if she knew of the power of which her mere gaze had on him, one look from her and he would give his life. In a soft tenor he answered.

"_I am here."_

"_Go from this land, my father has declared war on your people," the bitterness of her words cut through the softness of her voice._

He knew the danger and strength of her father, he also knew of the ignorance and hatred of his own people, but somewhere he had prayed that this evitable war would not happen. Prayers had not proven through and he knew with her words that she was his salvation in all respects.

"_Will he hurt you for telling me?"_

Her eyes spilled with tears as she shook her head. At least she was safe, he knew now that her father loved her too much to hurt harm her. He pulled her to him then, feeling the dampness of her tears on his skin. He stroked her hair, knowing that this was the last he would be able to hold her in this way. He began to speak but his voiced failed. He did the only thing he could; raising her face from his shoulder, cupping it gently, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead as he closed his eyes. He felt tears form in the base of his eyes, but he refused to let them flow. He trailed small kisses down her face, tasting her tears as he did so. Lifting her face she met his mouth, she tasted of sweetness and his will failed him. Her hand had encircled his waist, gripping the fabric of his shirt, unwilling to be pulled from him. He slowly pulled back from the kiss, opening his eyes to see that hers were still closed; when she did open them he saw her soul.

His hand moved with its own violation peeling the soft feather mantle from her shoulder, watching it spread wide as it soundless floated toward the forest floor. In the dim moonlight he saw her tanned doe skin dress, simple but elegant as it clung to her form. In that moment his heart speed and he again claimed her mouth. His hands traveled slowly down her back, past her hips feeling her softness which encouraged him to pull her closer. Her hands found their way balled in his shirt, her nails pressed tight against his skin and he did not know if the sensation was of pure pleasure or pain. To his skin, her hands felt like pure energy, the mir prickling of their power sped his heart. For their closeness he was sure she could feel his heartbeat, for it was a trapped thing which called for her. He moved his hands to the small of her back where he knew the laces that held her dress together lay. Slowly he pulled the first string of the dress. His lips moved down her neck one gentle kiss at a time removing each strap form its shoulder. When he was done the dress fell to the ground and the body of his dark goddess was revealed. By moonlight her skin glowed dark amber.

**I hope you enjoyed. Be forewarned, that if this does continue into a story it might be a little on the darker side of love. The rating would then be going up in later chapters. Also, I intend to play with notion that maybe Poca did find Rolfe ok, just a little ok. I hated saying that, I am a die hard PJS fan. I want to diversify a little from the standard romance between Poca and JS.**


	2. Chapter 2 Call Me When You're Sober

**Author's note- Just to warn you this story will feature some flashbacks and flash-forwards they will be denoted by an . **

_"Your life and my life flow into each other as wave flows into wave, and unless there is peace and joy and freedom for you, there can be no real peace or joy or freedom for me…" _

_Fredrick Buechner _

The cool night air bit into his skin, ungloved his hands held a translucent color, but the pain-the numbness he did not feel. Letting out a slow breath he wrapped the black cloak tighter around him. Yet still he watched, every movement recording itself into his memory. The tower bells chimed and he knew it was time; slowly he withdrew himself from the window removing the hand that was attached to the pane leaving a perfect print which dissolved against the cooling glass. With a breath that shown in the crisp night air he turned, retreating into the gray fog that rose from the ground and blended into the darkness of night.

Gently she shifted. Restless and weary she slipped from the covers, each of her foot falls fell silently against the polished wood floor until she reached the window facing east into the night. Reaching out, she touched the glass her warmth sinking into its coolness. Slowly she withdrew her hand and placed it back at her side, however she could not withdraw the emotions that had enclosed around her heart. She did not want to be here, this place, this London, _His _home For the company and continued peace she was back here- this forsworn place in her heart.

Three years she had been away, three years had numbed her heart, now she was back and she felt _him_ everywhere and no where. Silence nearly reigned within the room except the shallow breathing of her husband which reminded her that she was not completely alone to her thoughts. In this recollection, that traitorous word escaped from her mind, "_Bound_."

"_Yes_" she thought, she was assuredly _bound_.

She had made her bed and she would lie in it, but here in this London, _his _ London, the walls that she'd built around her heart were crumbling and she was loosing her battle of will. With the remorse building in her heart she turned on her heel and faced the bed slowly whispering,

"My fate."

In quick strides she crossed the room, slipping back into the cooling covers making the warmth of her husband's body feel strangely odd as it leaked into her cold skin. She chose to ignore this fact and closed her eyes, willing herself to fall into a dreamless sleep devoid of unspoken words and deferred dreams. He is a "_good husband_," she thought. But she was guilty and now she lay in the bed she'd made.

As the pale moon lit through the windows of a small London flat as the wind raged outside the small sanctuary, but it wasn't the bagging of her windows that woke Rachel Palmer. She tried to block out the sound but to no avail. It was _him_ and he wouldn't go away until he actually broke the door down in frustration and that would just not due, especially when she could barley pay the 12 pounds for rent. Annoyed, she tossed her scarlet hair off her shoulder and tore the warm covers from her body and made her way to the front door. Aggravated she caught the door latch with one hand while jerking the handle with the other. In protest the rusted door creaked open and her storm gray eyes meet light cerulean, thus revealing the thief of her sleep.

"_Drunk_," she knew by the taste of liquor now entering within her mouth.

Surprised, she thought "_yes_," shocked-"_not really_." He was headed down this path as soon as he heard the news that _she_ was back in London. He was heavy and his caresses, normally tender and fervent, were sloppy and he just did not pay her enough for this. Then again she thought, "_his companionship was good as well_." Struggling from his grasp, she grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom, finally able to get him seated. He looked ill, leaning over with his head in his hands. She felt for him, she truly did and that's why she agreed to help, but this man she just did not know. The gallant captain she had known slowly drained from him over the past three years.

"What did you do?"

The words burst from her mouth with an animosity that she just really didn't have. He mumbled something unclear and slurred but she figured what he'd done- he'd seen _her_. Again, not shocked, she had lain in his arms enough and heard _her_ name on his lips in his passion. His hands pulled her to him, tightly, she knew what it meant, but she also knew that this was not what he wanted. She knew men's minds, their passions, their needs, and wants; but this was not what he needed. Being the friend she attempted to be, she stayed him with the very thing that caused his hurt, talk of _her_. Yes, she had agreed to help him, wasn't that the very reason she was going to the ball with him. She knew that lust could inspire most women to fight for what they want, but Rachel Palmer also knew that jealousy was a bigger motivator.

He'd grown silent, asleep, slouched on what was her side of the bed. With great effort she moved him into a better position. Tiredly, she headed for the opposite side of the bed. As she closed her eyes she became unsettled. Nagging questions entered her mind,

"_Why had he tortured himself so much_?"

Whatever the reason he would not tell her and she respected this, this was one line they would not cross; besides- love was not her specialty. She also respected his reasons; she figured that unless he faced_ her _again, there would be no peace within his life, this seeking of peace she could understand. _He_ shifted in his sleep one cold hand found its way across her stomach; this one touch reminded her of the one thing that really bothered her. "_What lengths would he go to possess her,_" "_was she worth it_?" As sleep crept its way back in, Rachel hoped _she_ was. "_No he did not pay her enough to loose sleep over this_," she thought. Finally she turned towards him and realized that whatever bond _they_ once had was really worth it, at least to _him_.

_Flash-forward _

She could hear the clinking of glasses, laughter, and music coming from the end of the corroder. As she walked down the chamber, she was astonished at bright colors that hung from the stone wall. They were like her, coved with expense and charm but nothing could take away the frigidness of their interior. The sound of foot steps drew her attention away from the silk covered walls.

"Rebecca they are expecting us."

She could hear the placid annoyance in Rolfe's words. Why had she wondered off? She did not know, especially when it increased her odds of seeing _him _and that was an encounter she certainly did not want. Her eyes moved to her husbands form and she could not help but think how different they were, "_how truly different two men could be_." "Rebecca," this time he spoke with his usual insistence and she moved towards him linking her hands within his. "Forgive me, I was remembering." His hand reached out and touched her cheek, she smiled but the sensation she felt was in mixed contrast to painted façade of her display. With her nod the couple made their way down the corridor into the gala.


	3. Chapter 3 Sweet Sacrifice

**AN: Story features flashbacks and flashforwards**

Chapter 3

Scarlet was the only color that Rachel Palmer could imagine wearing to such an important engagement, well an important event for _him_. To his dismay Rachel had stepped from the carriage clothed within blood red silk and looking ever the part of illustrious courtesan that she _had_ been._ He_ had tried to argue with her, something he'd failed at and eventually relented when she explained that it was jealousy she was after and not spectacle. _He_ agreed after taking a closer inspection of her person. Although clothed within the color of vice, the silk of her dress actuated the red of her hair and brought out the grey of her eyes. She looked the part of the ravishing mistress to his bachelor and indeed they would make quite a spectacle. Linking her arm with his and placing on a sickly sweet smile that she knew could melt steel they drifted up the steps and into the palace.

The sable colored dress whorled as her over laced corset dug into her skin with each movement. Gratefulness enveloped her as the orchestra finished and another couple's name was called from the court announcer. Smiling up at her husband she was overjoyed that her audience with the king went smoothly and that continued peace, however begrudgingly, was assured. Yet she still felt the resentment and ignorance of the English around her and in the very eyes of her own husband. For him she had given up her gods, her people, her language, and herself- and it still was not enough, he did not understand. To her, no matter how great his faults were hers were greater. She turned with her husband to the stairs as the next names were announced. Her smile fell as the name drifted to her ears and her eyes spotted the form of John Smith.

For three years he had been living as the shell of a man, a shadowy figure of his former self. _Their_ end had disheartened him, he considered this his greatest failure. As he stood perched atop the stair case he easily spotted her. She was beautiful, the rich sable matched her warm skin and gave life to the room around her, but it was the richness of her eyes that he sought out. Down cast at the mention of his name he was denied this luxury and it brought him out of his revelry. As much as he loved…"_ loves" _his heart chimed, he couldn't make _her_ love him _enough _eventhen, but from this night he hoped to change that. With a causal grace he turned to look at Rachel, looking into her laughing eyes created the slow smile that spread across his face, it was this that gave him the courage to descend the stair case.

She turned swiftly and the ornate fan that had been clutched within her hand crashed to the floor creating an echo that was drowned out by the start of the orchestra. She had turned perhaps to flee but as sudden as the action started she stopped, _it_ was inevitable-she knew she would see him here, _it_ was undeniable-the rage at herself; _it _was uncontrolled- the jealousy building within her. Even if she could have fled the hand clutching her arm prevented her from it.

"Rebecca," her husband's strained voice called out.

But at this moment that was a name she did not want to answer to or be reminded of. She brought her eyes to him and smiled in reassurance with a will that was crumbling by the second. "What is he doing here," Rolfe asked in a huffed whisper as he looked in her eyes as if the answer would be there, perhaps it did. "He was invited just like you and I" the words escaped from her mouth in defense of who exactly she didn't know. "You knew and didn't bother to tell me." She nodded, "_Yes_" she had known, known well before her audience with the king, why had she not told Rolfe was another mystery, one she didn't want to solve. "No matter. It's been three years and… _he never came to me_." Rolfe noted the hesitation within her voice and it rubbed him the wrong way. Before any more remarks could be made the announcement of dinner sounded and the couple contented themselves with walking towards the banquette hall.

Rachel was duly surprised to the proximity in which the two couples sat, John must have pulled strings she didn't know he had. With this deduction she noted to charge him more on their next little interlude-if there was one. That's right; she had forgotten the true reason why she was here. "_Well_" she thought and committed herself to her job. In that instant she stroked John's arm bringing him out of the conversation with one of the aristocrats, understanding her insistence he turned and brought his mouth to her ear. The gentleness of his words tickled the satin of her skin as his hand hovered below her breast, "Is she watching." "Oh, he was a devil, maybe he should have been the one wearing red," thought Rachel. Not one to be up staged and always a good actress she touched his bent face with the expectation of a lover and rolled her grey eyes to pier at the woman in question. She let sex and lust seep into her eyes as she came face to face with the dark pools of Rebecca.

Rachel's eyes glanced at her full of gloating and self-indulgence. However, that's not what made Rebecca hate her, it was the look of pity that the women gave her which made _her_ feel like she had committed some great sin. With anger she thought, "_if anything, I have sinned against myself_." She had never been this angry or envious, to her these emotions were hard to comprehend, but it was what she felt. She could not ignore them or their unchecked caress; it brought on the beginning of tears which she refused to shed, so she did the only thing she could do, she turned away.

Turning back to her proficient patron Rachel spoke, "Yes, she sees us." And with a laugh she added "you have hell on your hands now." John caressed her again and slowly turned away. Always thorough and ever confident Rachel did the next logical thing, she made contact. Her "Excuse me miss" had been ignored the first time so she turned to rather devious methods when she called "Excuse me, Pocahontas is it." If _she_ had not been inflamed before, well she certainly was now, silently Rachel congratulated herself.

"Yes--," the word was drawn out and held venom, However Rachel held no contempt-she was doing this for _her_. With her smile that had on occasion melted the most hard of men, Rachel spoke with a nonchalantness that further enraged the woman, "Tell me of the New World if you will, John tells me so little of you." The strong façade that the woman had built crumbled and Rachel could tell. But Pocahontas refused to brake and this is what made Rachel understand why _she_ was worth the trouble. This strong woman that faced Rachel was like an enraged goddess yet held a serenity and will for love that Rachel envied. Unknown to both couples it was the bemused request of one nobility that would unleash fate. As Rebecca's eyes bore the into the grey depths of Rachel's soul and her retort ready with the malice Rebecca's intended reply was cut short by the portly lord sitting to her right. Lord Covington had once been a friend of her husband, but within the world of men and trade friendship was a fickle thing. No debt can go unpaid and its seemed that tonight would be the night when both she and her husband would account for their debts. Rolfe to the covetous lord that was bound to humble him within the offered hand of cards and she to the captor of her soul.

"Place all cards down gentlemen… and fair ladies," the balding lord added. At his proclaim Rebecca raised her eyes to stair at the ostentatious woman across from her. Already Rachel had collected a rather worthy pile of jewelry form the nobility and currently she stared at the diamond solitaire that lay on Rebecca's ring finger. In this endeavor of collection and conquest Rolfe had already lost the golden dagger lovingly given by his father--to an earl, for three months twenty percent of tobacco profits -- to a lord, and now his ancestral home was at bet. _She_ felt for her husband, the embarrassment, the crassness. However even in this knowledge; she knew that there was a fail safe, a way out, a bargaining chip that she and only she could fulfill.

With an almost certainty she saw John's eyes narrow in recognition of her thoughts. He knew what she'd been thinking, three years could not stop him from reading her or caressing her soul with his eyes, more importantly he knew that she'd accept his offer, anything to stay his hand. _"But would he take it?"_ she nervously thought.

Slowly the four ace's slid across the table like a condemned man to the gallows and John couldn't for the life of him contain the mirth form _his_ blue eyes. However upon John'smirth, Rolfe's eyes fell and hot anger arose.

"Well Johnny my boy…seems you've won an estate, rather uncommon of you wouldn't you say" the bald lord spoke between laughs.

John's low timbre answered, "I agree dear lord, but an estate is not what I'm after." To this Rolfe looked ill, his right hand convulsed and his words burst form his mouth. "What have you?" the anger shown through.

"Your wife"John answeredand to palate his small audience he added"a moment with her of reflection. I'm asking no more than an half an harmless hour."

"Alone with a stranger, a lady wouldn't dare" chimed a grey haired Duchess.

With a dark smirk John replied, "Lady Northumberland she and I are surly friends."

"Yes."


	4. Chapter 4 Good Enough

Chapter 4

The word explode from her mouth with an unchallenged ferocity as Rebecca stood from the table and moved across the room her chair silently rocked at the force of her movement. Following his wife Rolfe crossed the room to the doorway. _"_Rebecca I wouldn't dare…"She cut him off."And I would. Have your land back, this I will do." Her words struck him and of the three years they had been married he had never seen _this_ independence, _this_ fire- _had she hidden this as well_? He nodded and she went through the door. Rolfe knew he needed this- he needed his pride back. Crossing the room he reached the table and leaned over to Smith.

"Agreed, half an hour."

Backing out of his chair John stood and leaned back close enough to kill or kiss- feeling the heated anger radiating off the other man. To Rolfe's heated gaze John's shown back in a blank darkness, a darkness that shrouded him when he as a soldier killed. In a voice that held a cold heat of its own he spoke, "agreed" then pulled his winter sky eyes away from his adversary. John's muscles stiffened as he swiftly turned and the tails of his cerulean coat brushed against the table as he began to cross the wide expanse of the room. As he walked out into the faint light of the hall, his heart ached; he felt the weight of his triumph but it didn't sit well with him, yet it was to late to turn back and as me moved he let the darkness over take him. It was the sharp chiding of "Well Rolfe lets see what else you have to barter" that turned him away form the door on to the face of Rachel; slowly he sank down on to his chair.

_Flash-forward _

_"_We are certainly sorry for you, he was a good man."She looked up into the face of the man in front of her. The polished pew in which she sat was hard and uncomfortable; and the dampness of the cathedral's air was cold against her skin. It was nothing compared to the ice flowing through her veins. This noble like the others only offered her half hearted condolences. They didn't really know her husband, he was too low in nobility. But the prevailing factor was that her husband was dead. As the last mourner walked towards the door way she stood and walked towards her husband's casket. He was frozen in time, the only thing that shown of his death was covered by the crisp shirt he wore but she knew it was there, she remembered the blood all too vividly.

Gently she brought her hand to her mouth, kissed it and then placed it upon her husband's mouth. Until now, this was the only closeness she offered him in these past months and now he was gone. Again she felt numbness surround her and she wore it like a cloak to hide her shameShehad not loved _him _enough and she turned from her husband and drifted away. She had made it towards the end of the row of pews when _it_ over took her. Clutching a pew so hard that her knuckles became pale she did not notice the figure that slid to her side and offered assistance.

_"Female,"_ Pocahontas thought as the smell of oleander drifted to her nose.

She allowed the figure to guide her towards the door and out of the dark church. It wasn't until the nausea had passed that she had the strength to look up and when she did it shocked her. Anger and surprise shown in her voice-"What are you doing here."Well, one good deed certainly wouldn't get Rachel into heaven but she had to at least try.

"I am here to help you." Pocahontas scoffed at her word and gave her a looked that said just as much.

"Do you come here to gloat, to add to my misery?"

Surprised now herself Rachel offered, "No, I am here to help not mock...are you…?"

Pocahontas turned from her and began down the steps of the church. Rubbed the wrong way herself Rachel did the only thing she knew to still _her_ and Pocahontas did at her words. Rachel let the words fall from her mouth like an absolving burden;

"He loves you…not I or anyone else…When will you realize that… when will you acknowledge it within yourself …what's done is done. Now live."

Quite certainly the longest speech she had ever given on the topic of love, Rachel turned from the woman and walked away, letting Pocahontas linger in her memories she disappeared into the distance.

_Flash back _

The room was dark and smelled of newly polished pine. Within the darkness she could see pools of light created by the crystals of the chandelier that hung above; its light guided her to the relative safety of the room's silk covered wall. She could hear his heavy foot falls behind her but she refused to acknowledge his presence, at lest until she was forced to. It was John's calloused hand that brushed along her chin which brought her face to him, their eyes meeting in the shadows. Silently she prayed for numbness to enshroud her heart, but her prayer would not be answered. His eyes spoke to her of their shared prideful mistakes, his love for her, and his reluctance.

_"Love," _it was strange she wondered.

"How could you?" she hissed.

For a moment his eyes fell with the impact of her words but he needed her, needed her more than she would know, more than he would ever let her know. When he raised his eye they reviled to her a low fire, asking her a silent question that he hoped she'd asked herself and would willingly answer for both their sakes. When it did not come crossed the short distance between them and his tender lips meet with hers as his powerful arms encircled her waist, she could not escape. It took her by surprise, he tasted of spice -it was familiar to her, his taste, she had missed it. It was the brush of his tongue on her lips seeking entrance that pulled her from the relishment of his kiss. She pulled back out of his arms and slapped him. His head snapped to one side and his eyes never rose to meet hers.

"Pocahontas," her name was said on a whisper and although her hands clinched at her sides she regretted the action.

She repeated herself, "How could you."

He finally turned to her and anger shown like blue fire within his eyes. "I made my mistakes, but I'm fighting now_."_ With that her heart shattered and it started the trail tears which streamed down her face. He moved back to her then crossing the short distance, his hand cupped her cheek as his thumb wiped the tears from her eyes. His lips again moved to her mouth and she did not fight it, she could not fight her own needs, she had known that he would posses her, lay a claim to her and she wanted to be in his possession. Her defenses were broken, her heart was divided but she surrendered to him.

The movement of satin sounded harsh against the silence of the room, but it was the warm rub of the silk walls and the polished chair rail which bit against her necked back that was the most unpleasant. She was brought out of her thoughts as his lips and hands descended down her body cupping her against him making them one. It was the warm feel and rhythm of his body that erased the sounds of protest that came from the stroke of her satin dress against the cotton of his shirt. It was the defining sound of nothingness that spread across the room as moans were pulled from her only to be devoured by his hungry mouth. It was the warmth of his mouth that traced circles across her breast which made her forget her hurt. In the end it was the blindness of ecstasy that closed her eyes against his shoulder as she brought her nails up his back, leaving a trail of angry red marks as they searched his frame for support. Yet it was her name again soft from his lips that brought her into the reality of the situation. She slid down the silk covered wall down to the polished floor with her head in her hands as tears flowed in shame, betrayal, and love, and anger.

"Was this your revenge," she asked.

He did not answer and she refused to wait for one as she gathered herself and ran from the room back into darkness. He was left standing with her name on his lips and the lingering warmth of her body.


	5. Chapter 5 Lithium

**Lithium**-Chapter 5

_**England-Present**_

_Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.  
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...  
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my sorrow.  
Oh, but God, I want to let it go..._

Pocahontas walked down the darkened corridor hurriedly, so much so in fact that she stumbled twice but this was unknown to her. The only fact that did register was that her heart had been broken into a million pieces at the prospect of being used as a pawn in a game of revenge that was solely directed at her; by the very man she loved but a man she was not allowed to love.

She slowed as a sliver of golden light shown through from the door way in which her husband bartered their livelihood and her land. She had known what John Smith had wanted, it was what she had wanted all of these years to feel his heart beat with hers, to feel the warmth of his mouth upon her breast but never had she though he wanted revenge; wanted to publicly mark her as a whore, an adulteress. But she had to admit there had been a choice and the truth was still truth, she wanted him at any cost. Yes, she had sinned but wouldn't it have been a greater sin to deny her heart? At least in that one moment she thought she could heal the wound that had torn both of them, but in the midst of their conquest she knew that a dangerous flame had been lit that would lead to unexpected repercussions. Realizing that time was of the essence she readied herself to walk back into the light.

…_Couldn't hide the emptiness, you let it show.  
Never wanted it to be so cold.  
Just didn't drink enough to say you love me._

_I can't hold on to me,_

_Wonder what's wrong with me._

Rolfe watched Rebecca closely as she walked back into the room. She walked in a slow deliberate pace, a pace too deliberate for a woman he thought who had only talked with a man, a man who had abandoned her; as he, her husband had saved her _heathen_ soul. Rolfe could barley bite back the bile that had arisen in his throat, but he would not loose face here, not again, not in front of Smith- he would rather die first. He stood and walked to her in an deliberately angered pace, leaving in his wake a hush over the gaming table.

_Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.  
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...  
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my sorrow._

The silence between them was deafening as she and her husband walked to their carriage. Pocahontas sat leaning against the side of the carriage, her eyes searched the darkness to find her husband's. The obscurity comforted her, yet she never halted her search for his face. Denied his eyes, she was given his body. The carriage's lumbering motion threatened to lull her into slumber but it was the tremble of her husband's body, a tremble of anger, which kept her awake and aware of her surroundings. She stayed quiet and allowed the silent shadows and memories to embrace her.

* * *

_Flashback___

Virginia 1607 

_Don't want to let it lay me down this time.  
Drown my will to fly.  
Here in the darkness I know myself.  
Can't break free until I let it go.  
Let me go._

The ground was soft as her dew dampened skin warmed to the oncoming morning. She refused to move. In the fading twilight she wanted to savior the feel of his body against her's and ingrain the rhythm of his heartbeat to her memory. By daylight John would be gone back across the wide distance of sea from whist he came. The gentle crisp morning breeze moved across them and he shifted, even in his sleep he reached for her; bring her ever closer, molding her to him and melding them into one flesh. With his movement she could not hold still any longer and her disloyal arms wraps tighter around him breaking the moment and rudely awaking them both to the reality that this would be their last meeting.

John's eyes opened to her, although he had not slept, he lay there for hours letting the soft embrace of her body heal the gaps of his heart. Before her he had been a broken man; he had lived and seen a thousand different horrors, had even committed them, but never had he felt or loved as completely as he did her. In his head he had known they were doomed from the start, just like she had known, but his heart would not comply and one could not fight their own heart. Tenderly, he stroked her cheek and in doing so the dam of tears built behind her gaze flowed like a river. All he had the strength to do was wipe them away. He and his people were banished from this lush Eden but most of all he was banished from her. He did not know how her father had known, perhaps on a trading meeting with her father his own gaze had drifted to fondly over the striking plains of her face, perhaps it was tension set tight in their bodies that morning at the killing stones, or most likely her refusal of marriage to one of her father's warrior complicated by the rounding of her form which that she presented to her father. He hugged her tighter remembering that that spark of life lasted only long enough to fan the flames of contention which had grown and forced him away this very day.

Her tears slowed as the sky erupted in pale pinks and blues, she knew it was time. She had to let go, for him to live she had to let him go and this she would do. For his life she would become a ghost of her former self; obey and make no demands, not of her father or any one else. She would survive in a shell of memories and build a frozen wall around her heart that no one could penetrate and only he could break.

_End of Flashback---_

* * *

_**England-Present**_

_I can't hold on to me,  
Wonder what's wrong with me._

_Come to bed, don't make me sleep alone.  
Couldn't hide the emptiness, you let it show.  
Never wanted it to be so cold.  
Just didn't drink enough to say you love me._

Rebecca had spoken not a word to him as they sat in their carriage. Rolfe waited for her to speak, but he knew the answers to his questions would not be forthcoming. They never had been especially when dealing with the subject of_ John Smith_. Rolfe could feel the anger building, it shook his body and he was sure she could feel it; yet she sat indifferent and unreachable. _"Would he allow himself to wait?"_ he asked himself, as his apparent calm exterior began to rapidly break. However, continued with his own silent vigil. Silence, it was what connected them in the beginning.

Rolfe remembered the vast stillness that had shrouded her when he they met. Between them there had existed an ever present silence, but this silence that enveloped them now was all together different from what had existed before. From the beginning he had attributed her silence to some great pain that lived vividly in her eyes, he had accepted this. He had known pain as well and he had tried to heal that "hurt" throughout their marriage but she wouldn't let him. Now as he looked back he found atrocity in her silence, it bit him to the core. He felt fire push through his veins but he would not sully himself, he could wait. His thoughts drifted.

He had been there when _Smith_ had left her alone to chase _his_ dream and find _his_ next whore. He had been there to face the sorrow that filled her eyes as he reached to kiss her that day on the ship. He had felt her stiffness as he made love to her body but never her to heart. He had seen the tears she cried as _Smith_ turned from her on that place balcony and he knew her tears weren't of joy. He ached to bring her to into his arms but he could not, not when _he_ had been near her that would be beneath him. He was not _Smith_; but he had saved her, he had been there, he had even loved her when she could not.

"_Why was she silent, did she not know his love?"_

He never got to answer his thought as the jerk of the carriage signaled that they had arrived to their temporary home. The candles had been lit and her skin glowed upon the light. She slowly walked toward the staircase her hand making heavy connection to railing. The door slammed and his voice stopped her. She knew it would hold anger but the malice she did not expect. She respected him; his quietness matched her's, he could be tender, he thought he loved her, and most of all he had been there. She just could not give him her heart, it belonged to another.

"Why so quiet wife." His voice was strained in fury as his body quivered.

_Darling, I forgive you after all.  
Anything is better than to be alone.  
And in the end I guess I had to fall.  
Always find my place among the ashes._

She turned to him, but didn't speak a word. She stood silent, she was sure he knew her sin. Her silence only elevated his rage. _"What did he do, what did he want… what did you do?"_ He approached her quickly, his nails piercing into her arm. This had been the duality of their marriage silence and rage. As pain climbed up her arm all the remorse, sorrow, and love she had for him evaporated and she prepared for the blow that always came after.

_Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.  
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...  
Lithium, ...stay in love with my sorrow.  
I'm gonna let it go._


	6. Chapter 6 Forgiveness :Lacrymosa

Chapter 5

**Thank you to all who have reviewed and for the honestly within them. I do apologize to have to repost this chapter however it needed revision. I also apologize that I am fighting major writer's block, lack of time, life, and possible retirement from altogether. I promise that I will at least try to finish this story in seeing that I have only two to three more chapters. Please stay with me if you will and I hope my vision for this story will become clearer within the next few chapters. Again, thank you for the reviews and please have a second look. Please tell me what you think and I am also looking for a beta.**

_**England -- King's Ball (earlier in the night)**_

As the chill of the moonlit room made contact with John Smith's heated flesh it awoke him from his stupor. He had not said anything, not a word as she ran from the room with tears falling from her eyes. He had wanted revenge. For years it was all he'd dreamt, to see Rolfe crumble as he felt a fraction of the pain that he himself had felt.

However, he never fully comprehended the hurt he would inflect and never foresaw the pain he now felt. He had been blinded by vengeance and want. All he wanted now was to shout her name. Now, he realized that with his pride he had tipped the invisible balance between the lines of love and hate. She was lost to him forever. He had had only shown his spite and not his love. Pocahontas had been his again and he had ruined her. Placing on his jacket he retreated into the darkness.

_**England- The Present **_

Rachel's hands moved of their own accord as they made there way across the smooth muscled chest in front of her. He gasped at her touch, she felt things low in her body tighten. Her lips moved in a long line down his chest and stopped only to hover above the perfection of a belly button. As she moved in for her kill she heard it, and it was not her shutters again. Rachel was use to John Smith's unrelenting knocking but the hard banging coming from her door she just could not stand. He had interrupted a very precarious monetary transaction. _"Tisk tisk, _she thought. Coyly she turned toward her guest with a searing kiss that spoke of passions yet to be fulfilled, it stayed him. Turning quickly she made a hasty exit and prayed that her door would still be attached to its frame.

To imagine her surprise at the state of the man pushing inside her flat would be unfathomable. He stood in total disarray, one which that even in his drunken stupors he did not manage, however the frightening thing for her was that he was totally sober. She moved then to take his strong arm and pulled him to her, his eyes were troubled in the low light. The heart that Rachel didn't think she had anymore hurt for her friend. She had not left him at the ball this way and it was most likely his own doing that landed him in this state. Something must have gone very wrong.

Rachel refused to let John Smith sit in silence, the last time she did that he nearly drank himself to death and she would not… would not… carry him again! The opening of her bed room door startled her. _"Oh,"_ she had forgotten about him. Apologetically she looked to her lover as a soft had brushed across her full chest; it sent the young man back to the bedroom. She turned back to Smith.

"What did you do?" Why did that sentence seem so familiar to her?

He sat silent and still. She didn't think he registered her question. Slowly she approached him and brought her hand toward his shoulder. She gasped as his hand in mid air caught her's, gently. With a tender touch he brought her hand to his shoulder and looked up in his answer.

"I hurt her."

That sent a chill down Rachel, she knew violence all to well, but he could never hurt any woman in that way. He had even saved her.

_**Flashback, London 1604**_

_Rachel remembered her own burses and the way they had stung the morning after. She would not have been alive to day had it not been for John's merciful hand pulling her drunken client off her. As the rain pelted her skin she watched as her golden savior, she had not known his name then, rammed her attacker into the wall next to her. Rachel had clawed at the wall beside her but only managed to see her saving grace pummel her ex- patron to the ground. She had felt the warm spray of blood fall over her skin but she was not frightened. She was young then and had not chosen correctly in her nightly endeavor. His breath was ragged and she watched as his muscles coiled tight willing for the next blow. But there wasn't another, there was no need._ _But there wasn't another, there hadn't need to be. The man who had given her two pounds for her body and abused it lay unconscious and was no longer a threat. She had been frightened when John's hand reached out for her's, but the warmth she felt from his calloused hand squeezing hers told her otherwise. From then own she had owed him her life simply because he had saved hers._

Rachel knew better than to dwell in the past and quickly beat down her own daemons and listened.

"She traded her flesh, I… I lay with her." His voice hardened, "I destroyed our love. I betrayed her!

"You're wrong you know." Rachel sneered.

"How?" he choked out.

Rachel being the insightful person that she was figured that there were several problems with his statement. Oh, he truly felt what he did, there was no doubt, their little jealously game had caused problems, it was meant to. But "_destroyed love?_" _Could a true deep love ever be destroyed,"_ she did not think so. Rachel could tell he still loved the native woman, it was in his eyes and they never lied. _"She traded her flesh."_ Hmm, Rachel did that everyday. _"At least they loved each other. What was their problem? Didn't they know martyrdom was overrated?"_ she thought.

"Possession goes both ways John. She made her own choice to marry him and to fuck you tonight… she wanted you like you wanted her but both of you are damned fools for thinking hurting each other will get rid of your past…well Johnny Boy, it wont."

The ever clever, blunt, but honest Rachel continued her assault and responded with what she thought best.

"You two had a good fuck and now what, you're crying foul? You two love each other and think it's fair to be blind to that love. You two are prideful and don't have enough courage to do the right things, even if that means letting go of your own hurt or hurting someone else's feelings… you two need each other."

He stiffened at her words.

"She was mine; mine once Rachel…now she's his."

His pride was wounded Rachel could tell,

"You two can't let go of your past because you're bound to it. You didn't force her John, she made her own decision to make love to you but I'm sure she wanted more… a word…a push that would shatter that wall I'm sure she has around her heart. But you, you didn't because the wall around yours is just as thick. Will someone have to die for you two to love?"

Her chest heaved heavily, she was sure her guest heard her. Again, another rant on an emotion she had hadn't felt in years, she was too tainted. He sat and sat. The in a slow controlled motion he stood. He was angered, she was sure he was, at which part she was not too sure.

"I went to her to make things right, to love her, but it wasn't enough." He spoke in loathing.

"Then you lie to yourself, you might have wanted to make things right but to beat her husband as well. He's not what keeps her from you, you are. You two are drawn like moths to a dangerous flame. No, you being the numb bastard was what kept her from you.

He could not stand to hear more, the truth was always hard to hear particularly when you knew the truth and its implications. Moving quickly he headed toward the door. It was what he always did; it was what he was trained to do, leave and then assess the damage. But he fought to brake that cycle, Pocahontas had shown him a better way. He had to correct his mistakes; he had to wash away what he had become even if that would be at his own expense. He stopped as he heard Rachel's voice,

"And leave the whores alone John."

He nodded to Rachel and closed the heavy door. In no words at all he had promised her that he would return to his home. Rachel moved toward her bedroom, she no longer wanted rapture, her own daemons were back to haunt her and there was only one place she could be free of them, in Christ Church.

_**England, The Rolfe Home-The Present **_

Finger nails scrapped loud against cold wood; as the body that lay strewn across it reached out and braced itself to move. Her arms were stiff, she must have lain there for hours. Gingerly Pocahontas crawled to all fours and with time her vision began to clear.

She stood, a hand greedily took hold of a pale wall. She heard no sound, oddly the room was still and her light footfalls were harsh against the polished floor. She knew her husband was gone, to where she did not know, but she hoped he found his solace and forgiveness.

Jugging by the state of her dress, which were whole and complete, her husband's anger only violated her bruised skin and not her body. She would grant him his forgiveness again. Pocahontas grabbed her cloak and covered her battered body as best she could and made her way to the only place that she would find solace, with her husband's god.

The night air was damp against her skin as her cloak began to slip open in her haste. That did not stop her; she was too hard pressed to reach her destination. The door was heavy as her small hands fought the grained cedar to enter; she managed the feat and press forward into the churches orange glow. She chose the fourth row, the closest she was allowed to the alter. She, with her heathen soul had been pitied by God in her baptism so she was allowed her forth row, a least that's how her husband explained it to her. Her legs ached as they bent in the narrow space and her knees throbbed as they made contact with the stone floor, but all the pain began creep away as memories transported her to the life she had left behind and a past she wished she could forget.

_**Flashback, Powhatan Village 1607 **_

"_The pain had been unbearable and as the smell of blood filled the air she knew it was over. The dull ach had started as she bent low picking ripe corn in the humid heat. She had hoped it would lessen as she worked, several of the older women had told her what to expect during her time, but the twinge of pain that traveled through her body was not expected. It had not felt right and as she sunk to the ground she blinked back tears. Her next memory was that of waking to a burning sensation and the urgent need to push. Her deer skin dress had clung to her as the persistent need to bear down overrode any fight not to, it was too soon. She drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of her own life but completely aware for the lack of the other. _

_The room smelled of her own blood and as she gazed at the circle of women around her she had known. Most of their faces were closed off but a few, those closet to her, their eyes glistened as they watched her watch them. It was those glistening eyes that told her the truth, that she had been betrayed. How long they had been poisoning her she did not know. Nevertheless, there could be only one who would benefited from her loss and could have ordered it. _

_She had had a son her father told, small enough to have fit in his hands and had a patch of light colored hair; her father told her could not distinguish its exact color as he said it changed in the light. She never knew what color her son's eyes had been; her father said they never opened as was expected. She never got the chance to hold him; they had him burned before her eyes ever opened. Powhatan had cried for her then, perhaps for himself too. She could not feel, could not cry. Her father had taken from her what she had loved the most and it stood as the first of his warning toward the leader of the outsiders. In her pain she took heed of his threat, for their safety the outsiders would have to leave." _

Her thoughts drifted back to the present. _"Rolfe had been her way out?" _she wondered.

The yank of the door and the sudden foot steps coming down the aisle startled her, "_Rolf could not have found her that fast."_ As her heart threatened to jump out of her throat she listened and expected to be yanked at any moment.

"What are you doing her?" the sultry voice called and Rachel could only guess as to why she'd run into her.

Pocahontas had recognized voice and looked up to see the fiery redhead stair down at her. She became conscious of her battered state and made a move to lift her hood when Rachel caught her hand. Of course she struggled this was Rachel, the mistress of her lover. However, the older woman was stronger and pulled her toward the light, that's when her tears spilled.

_"She will only to mock me,"_ Pocahontas thought.

There had been only a few times in her life that Rachel had ever been astonished, she was a pessimist, but to see the defilement of the woman before her surly toped her list. She was not a stranger to violence, it came with the territory of being a prostitute, but she had never recognized the same pain in someone else. With a loud thump Rachel sat down hard next Pocahontas and did the only thing she could do in an understanding of shared pain, she pull the woman to her and let her own tears break through. And that's how Rolfe would later find them.

_**England- The Present**_

_"How did it all go wrong?" _That was question in which the hooded figure asked himself as he crossed the wet cobblestones of poor London. At a brisk pace he walked down the darkened streets and narrow alleyways, he was alone, yet in the back of his mind he knew he was not.

Familiar with his surroundings and London's night life John Rolfe knew that around each bend were rouged faces, tarnished reputations, and willing souls to convert for his comfort. In the low lamp light he spotted her, this rouged soul was coved in cheap linen and smelled of ale but tonight he would hold her in his arms like the angel she would never be and pretend she was another. He could save this soul, at least for this night.


	7. Chapter 7 Like You

Who dat writing again? I's is writing again, at least this enough to finish this story. Yeah Saints!!! Sorry I am from New Orleans and part of this was written over Super Bowl Sunday. In addition, sorry this has taken so long to update, I blame life and writers block. However, we should thank the snow for me getting this done. I am in the North East and I have been trapped in my apartment for the past six days, fun times. But here's the next chapter and forgive me if this feels different, but its hard getting back into fiction writing when I have been working on a dissertation for the past year, nope I am not dead, at least not yet. So, things amp up a little in this chapter and watch for the next chapter all will be revealed there, I promise my disjointedness in this story will make sense, it's a method of illusion. I meant for you to be a little confused, I just a tad evil. Oh happy belated Single Awareness Day aka Valentines Day, so here's a little love to celebrate and so let's carry on.

Chapter 7

Like You

_**England, London- After the Ball -The Present **_

Rolfe's hands moved of their own accord up the pale silky thighs bringing her to him. She was beautiful in the cover of darkness. With her back pressed to the cold wall, her hands worked swiftly on his clothing, searching for his pouch of gold or in a rush to bring him, which one he could not tell. They moved in a savage cadence that surprised him, his anger swelled as they moved. In the dark moonlight of the street, he tasted her and he hated her, hated that his wife led him to this, _"she didn't love him enough."_ Her rough hands pushing him back broke his thoughts. The hands that had once caressed her thigh, had dug into her skin, had brought pools of blood to it surface, and now as she struggled his hands made their way to her throat. _"Did she pray like his wife did that he would finish? _The womanfought him, managed to detangle herself from him and ran; he stood in the dark ally seeking further redemption. Slowly Rolfe moved, crossing the wet cobblestone, heading in the direction of Christ Church.

In the glow of the church Rachel cried, _"Cried like a baby"_ she thought. Truthfully, she had never loved but she had thought she had at one time. Rachel knew, well she could feel, that they had much in common; love, pain, and sorrow. Rachel held Pocahontas as she released her pain and gently told her, "I know you still love him," the younger women nodded. Rachel had been hurt by love. She had not always been a whore, by the time she had met John Smith she had just started in the trade, with his help she gained enough respectability in order to move from a lowly streetwalker to a highly paid courtesan, he was a good friend. Although she had been new to the streets, she had been familiar with the arts of pleasure; she had learned this from her first lover, a man she thought she loved.

Rachel had been wealthy, born the daughter of a merchant, yet she became the lover of a highwayman. Her relationship had been doomed to fail. She learned form him, the touch of a man, their thoughts, and their desires. Yet, she did not learn enough to protect herself from his rages, to ply his gripping hands from her arm, or to not become pregnant by a man who did not love her, no she learned those lessons in grief and pain. Her lover had turned her out to the streets, she could not turn to her family. Her body had been her means of escaped and passion, then it became her means of survival. She had lost her babe, her son, not to sickness or death but to the almshouse. Rachel had given up her child painfully, so that he would have a better life, if she had known his life would have lasted one season, she would have kept him with her. Rachel now held the other crying woman in her arms like she had held her child. They cried in sorrow and prayed together, each in their own way. When the door opened neither woman heard nor felt the chill of the night's wind alerting them to Rolfe's presence.

Rolfe saw them. _"Did he think she would let go easily?_," Rachel considered.

Rolfe's large hand landed heavily on Rachel's arm, she pulled the beaten women closer to her.

"Rebecca" he called. Pocahontas did not like the tone, it held to much anger.

"Let go of my wife," Rolfe demanded, _"Even whores and red devils come to the church for refuge when in league with sin,"_ he thought.

Rachel had never followed orders and she did not plan to anytime soon. She was about to curse Rolfe, but she remembered where she was. Instead, she stood and pulled Pocahontas with her breaking Rolfe's painful grip.

"How dare you, is this how you love your wife by beating her," Rachel exclaimed.

He moved toward them meaning to grab his wife, they would find redemption together, but Rachel was there and stopped him.

Rolfe's anger flared, "How dare you protect her you harlot." "_His wife had never stood up to him before this night and now the whore was. Couldn't Rebecca see he loved her, that he was fighting for them, couldn't Smith's mistress see he loved his wife?"_

Rolfe snapped, moving toward the whore, his hand made contact with her face. Rachel had not been hit in ten years and would be dammed, dammed, if Rolfe would do it again. As Rachel fell against the dark oak bench she let Pocahontas go and pulled her stiletto from her boot, it gleamed in the dim church light. The knife would have made contact with Rolfe had not Pocahontas intervened, she held the knife still in Rachel's hand.

"Don't," Pocahontas yelled. "_She did not want him dead_."

Rolfe stood stunned, _"the whore had tried to kill him and his wife stopped her,_ _perhaps she's not in love with Smith,"_ Rolfe thought.

Rachel struggle against her, but Pocahontas moved with Rachel.

"I love my husband," Pocahontas yelled.

Rachel gasped in thought, "_She loved him? What about Smith, didn't she love and share her body with him?"_ Rachel could not stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

"Like hell."

Rolfe's anger rose again, shifting toward the women. Rachel was ready for him, he would not hurt them, be dammed.

"No…" Pocahontas stuttered and exclaimed, "I love him."

Rachel could protest no longer, only Pocahontas could save herself. Slowly the wounded woman moved toward her husband. Rachel called, "Come with me, _we_ will protect you, you don't have to punish yourself." The younger women moved with her husband toward the door, yet she stilled long enough to shake her head to the redhead. They left and Rachel stood in the gold glow of the church, she stayed, she had a lot to pray and ask forgiveness for.

They lay in bed, Rolfe's mouth inched up her body, along with his hands. Pocahontas's breath hitched in her throat. It was not from pleasure. He had asked for forgiveness, had even gotten on his keens, had even kissed her feet. Rolfe had _saved_. Had saved her when she was in her darkest despair and fresh with her own sin, she forgave him. Rolfe tasted of another, he smelled of sex, and his touch irritated her burses, but he was her husband and she dared not deny him outright. His anger had evaporated; it was because she claimed to love him, now he wanted her to prove it. _"Would she?"_ Rolfe kissed her and she shuttered. She loved Smith, the memory of his body filling hers and his warm calloused hands on her thighs helped her break free of Rolfe. Pocahontas forced herself to kiss her husband back, but spoke in fear, " I can't…I am hurt." He did not anger, but touched the purple handprint on her face, she winched. He turned his back to her and she was free, for now. _"Could she take anymore?"_

John Smith also lay in bed, in his flat, restless. He remembered the feel of her center, their hands moving around the plains of each other's bodies, the marks that they made in ardor, the explosion of colors at their peek; the memory of their union would not leave him. His hands traced across her nail marks on his shoulders, other men would call them a badge of conquest, but he held them as a sign of their love, no one would see them. He wanted her, he loved her, he could not live without her; now that he had known her again, he had to get her back. A thought came to him in the silent darkness, but would he do it, _"Would I risk it?" _he the darkness, he made his decision; he had to have her back and he would pay any cost.

**Here is a lil bit of Chapter 8 for bearing with me so long and yes it might confuse you, but hold out, this story's more complicated than you think. Oh don't forget to tell me what you think, hit that box and review. A line was barrowed from Evanescence's "Like you" have fun finding it. **

Chapter 8

All That I'm Living For

_England, London- The Future _

He heard the metal door slam but did not move, he was too lost in despair. The foot steeps drew closer and clinked swiftly, a woman. The sky was gray and it matched his mood. The woman drew nearer, her gown rustled as she moved. _"How did it come to this, how did it all go so wrong, he had loved her." _He remembered the rain, her falling in his arms, blood, the knife in his hands, her face, her closing eyes. He closed his. The sound came closer and he smelled Oleander. Her hands her hands hit the bars.

"How could you," she said. _"How could he?"_ he thought.

Rachel Palmer stood, her accusing gray eye weighed heavily on his soul, it forced his winter sky's to glance in her direction. He would not move to her, he could not, he would not face it the fact that his life was out of his hands now. Rachel called to him, he saw silver tears crawl down her face, it broke his heart. She had been a good friend to _her_ and to him. John Smith saw Rachel grasp the bars harder; she really wanted to touch him. "Tell me why at least?" she had asked. He could not answer, he had no answer.

Rachel's dress was unbelievably bright in the darkness of cell bock, a radiant green. He would make this his last memory of her. John Smith would have told Rachel she looked beautiful, but he could not speak, she would not hear the truth in it anyhow. She would not hear his truth anymore, she no longer trusted him, she feared him. She called to him again, her silver tears flowed freely, he nodded in her direction signaling that he heard her, his golden hair followed the movement.

"_Why?"_ She deserved the truth, but John Smith trusted she would discover it soon enough.

He trusted Rachel to finish his business, she promised I to him and they kept their promises to each other, she could never say no to him. Through her tears of anger and desolation she spoke, "take care of what you ask of, me because I could never say no."

He knew then she would do what he had asked, he was grateful. She turned to leave, her skirts moved with her. His voice stopped her movement. The redhead listened as he spoke the most burning sentence of his life, "Rachel I loved her, what else could I do?... Please just do as I ask, I am grateful to you my friend." He moved to her then and grasped the one had still laying on the door's opening, he squeeze it and she pressed back, her red curls shined in the dim light. _"What else could he do?"_ Rachel contemplated and then she moved away. As she headed for the gray outside world, she knew their strength would carry _her_ through.


End file.
